


Joy Is My Name

by CopperBeech



Series: Absent Without Leave [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: AU - World Without Covid, Amnesia, Anathema Has No Time For Bullshit, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bad Jokes, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fast Driving In The Bentley, M/M, Married Life, Not the usual Beelzebub, Or Maybe Rumpelstiltskin, Pregnancy, Promiscuous Use Of Blake Quotations, Protective Beelzebub (Good Omens), Sentimental, Soppy, Yes It's Kind Of A Little Mermaid Story, if that's not a tag IT SHOULD BE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperBeech/pseuds/CopperBeech
Summary: When human and demon come together, there's a steep learning curve on both sides. Between demon and angel, there's sixty centuries of baggage. Marriage takes work, and that's before the former Prince of Hell makes a discovery she can't quite handle.“You shouldn’t have followed me,” she said in a small voice.“Been here before, love. Tried to make me forget you, remember how well that worked?”“You should have.”“We going to have to go over this every year or so? I’m not afraid of them.”The headshake again. “I did not think it would happen.”“What, you thought that lot was going to back off forever? I didn’t.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Original Human Character
Series: Absent Without Leave [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1482248
Comments: 54
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not the nonbinary Beelz of fanon. The _Absent Without Leave_ series featured a female-presenting Beelzebub who decided to see what made Earth so dear to the Ineffable Husbands, leading to hijinks in dance clubs, narrow escapes, and a power shuffle in Heaven and Hell. Without the previous fics this will make zero sense, but they're short if you want to try the first [("Beelzebub's Day Out")](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452331) and see how it sits.
> 
> TW (but also spoiler) in endnotes to this chapter. Tags to be updated.

“D’ye have an appointment?” asked Gemma, though the angular, impeccably coiffed, white-suited woman in front of the reception desk clearly had no expectation of being questioned. About anything.

After a pause: “Marm.”

“Not _exactly_.” She looked like an especially flinty school counselor – one who, at just the right moment, might let slip a tight, brief smile to remind you that she wasn’t there to make your life hard. Just to make you do the hard stuff your life already had lined up for you.

“I’ll check if he’s in, who shall I say is here?” _The Snow Queen? One of the Lancre witches? She-Who-Must-Be Obeyed?_ Gemma had taken a job at a publishing company because all her free time since childhood had been spent reading fantasy literature, and one day, she knew, she’d finish one of her own five uncompleted novels. The marketing department had seemed like the right place.

“Micaela Buckler. He’ll see me.”

“Please, have a seat.”

She didn’t.

 _Maybe she’s his mum,_ thought Gemma as she rang the extension. Granted, she'd seen few mums as severely elegant as Ms. Buckler, unless they were rich, and Chaz (he refused to be called “Mr. Riffey”) didn’t come from rich people. He bagged his lunch. He was sweet and unpretentious and asked Gemma about her writing. He was keen on the visionary poets, Blake especially, and sometimes talked about angels and demons as if he were personally acquainted. He had never, in the six months that he’d worked there, had a good haircut.

Today he looked like a works zone – a flake of dried blood from a razor nick on his jawline, a smudge of ink from the last time he’d changed the printer cartridge smeared along the edge of his khaki trouser pocket; the thick, dark due-for-another-cut hair sticking up in front from the way he habitually raked it with his fingers when he was thinking.

Maybe his wife cuts it, Gemma thought absently. She’d met Mrs Riffey all of once – a short, slight woman with stiff black hair and an unaccountably powerful presence ( _a lot like the Snow Queen here,_ she thought), whose all-but-blank expression didn’t soften even when she looked at Chaz, though their hands had remained joined all through the company luncheon and they might have been on the Moon for all the attention they paid anyone except one another.

He gazed at the Buckler woman – not quite the same way – not the way you’d look at a precious work of art, but at an answered prayer.

“Hold my calls, love?” he said.

* * *

“No note. No text. The calls are all going to voicemail.”

“You ought to have rung me straight away. I told you I meant to protect you.”

“Coppers tell you to give it twenty-four hours. Guess I was thinking of you the same way. How’d you even know to come?”

“Surely you’re familiar with the concept of a guardian angel. _”_ The stern features flashed that little bit of a smile – the one he’d seen at the wedding they’d done-over for his family and the Registry Office, where Micaela -- Michael -- had been the bride’s older cousin (“her family’s quarreled a lot, Mum, but there’s those she can always count on”). It was nothing short of miraculous how his parents had accepted a surprise wife out of nowhere, without question.

“I don’t mean that I hear from my old workplace. They hate it when you walk off the job without giving notice. But I maintain… back channels.” Now the smile was actually _mischievous,_ and he’d only seen that once before, at that cobbled-up Horsham wedding party, when his Dad had poured her a third Scotch and given her that little flirty wink that told him the guv’nor had been a lad before meeting Mum. It had been a warm thought at the time: that for both him and his father, there had been all the pretty birds and then, at first sight, the one, the only.

The one he’d told _I love you no matter_ , when she’d just told him she was a Lord of Hell.

The one that had disappeared.

* * *

“Sleep like a stone when I’m comin’ off the migraines,” he said. “So I went up early, and she said she’d be along – been doin’ that a lot lately, says she needs the alone time to study. She’s been doin’ these online courses, podcasts and things, one of ‘em’s called _The Art Of Being Human,_ you believe that?” It was a ghastly sob of a laugh. “And this extension course from U London in Human Resource Management. Said it was her skill set, ‘cept for the _human_ part – dunno, maybe she just met someone… the lads used to say don’t marry ’em if you’re their first, they’ll go on walkabout…”

“Charles. Look at me.”

He seemed to find it hard.

“What did she give up for you?”

The silence stretched out. _Power, the lordship of Hell, eternal life._

“Everything,” he said in a small voice.

“So you are, in fact, talking like an idiot.”

After another pause he said “Reckon I am.”

“Because it’s easier to think that she left you than that – “

“ – someone might have hurt her,” he said, and then, “Sorry, going to be sick,” and sprinted for the lav next door. Michael had gotten used to human eating and drinking, which angelic energy essentially sublimated into nothing, but mentors on this plane had instructed her in the need to accelerate the process if you accounted for too much of the single malt she’d come to like, or else risk this kind of experience.

“Feel another comin’ on,” he said as he re-entered to the sound of a flush. “Yeah. I thought about her being online after I went up. What she said about they way they could come through. The telly. Radio. Just _showin’ up. Christ_ –sorry – this’n’s gonna be a pounder. Light’s already hurtin’ my eyes.”

She snapped her fingers with an authority that would have brought an entire platoon of lackeys running. Chaz’s face sagged with relief.

“We can’t have you in that state. Here, go put some cold water on your face.” Ms. Buckler snapped again and extended a folded, silver-grey flannel. “You’d have thought of it, if you’d been less upset. There’s only one place she’d go.”

* * *

Gemma had never _deliberately_ eavesdropped up till now, but love of narrative and intrigue was her weak spot. It had gotten her into trouble before this, and almost did now, as the severe woman clipped back into the cramped reception area. There was just enough time to spring away from the doorway, snatch up a random file folder and look busy and not at all as if she had heard anything.

“Mr. Riffey will be leaving with me,” she said over a vigourous sound of running water in the lav. “If he has appointments for this afternoon, cancel them.” She glanced back over her shoulder, withdrew a razor-thin brushed silver smartphone from her jacket pocket, and flicked the screen.

“I'm there now," she said. “You were right to call.” A longish pause. “No, you’ve done just as you should.” Another silence. “It wasn’t hard to get him to come with me. We’ll be there shortly.”

Gemma waited for their footfalls to die away before she reached -- not for the phone on the desk, but the mobile in her purse -- and began dialing.

* * *

“I’m not exactly sure how I can help,” said Anathema. “This time it’s a little outside my area.”

“Thought witches dealt with this a lot,” said Crowley. “Splash?”

“Dear, it’s barely past noon – at least get yourself a proper glass – well, I was still so relieved to see you right at that moment. It seemed like one of those things that really needs the _human_ touch –- once she's had some time to collect herself -- could you _stop_ doing that thing with your boot toe, dear? It’s frightfully distracting."

There was some sort of tension between the angel and demon that didn’t have anything to do with an unexpected guest: the whole shop was a little fuzzy with the psychic cobwebs of some interrupted quarrel. Crowley went back to punishing stacks of first editions with a feather duster.

“So what ever brings you down to London?” pivoted Aziraphale as brightly as he could manage.

“Just shopping – well, Newt’s mom wanted help wallpapering, but I think it was really about having some time with him – sorry I didn’t call ahead – ”

“No need, always welcome -- Crowley, if you're looking for something to do with yourself, perhaps we can offer Miss Device some tea?”

“Um, give's a mo', used the last clean mug on _her,_ ” he said, tilting his head to indicate the upstairs flat. Prodigious puffs floated up into the rays from the central oculus. “Put in a whack of this, reckoned it couldn’t hurt.”

“Was that wise, dear?”

“Well, was me, I’d already be on the floor up there surrounded by empties.”

“I don’t think it could possibly _be_ you, could it?”

“Not sure. Never tested it.”

“Is that a _customer_? – I’m sure I turned the sign round – do stop jumping at everything, Crowley, you’re getting that _serpent_ look again – “

Knuckles beat a tattoo on the door, the sound of someone unused to hearing No for an answer -- the second time that day they’d heard that kind of knock. Crowley dropped his duster and sidled around the end of the shelves, hand up in a “wait, shush” gesture that was also an unconscious finger-gun. The angel’s slightly vexed expression softened, and Anathema felt the psychic cobwebs clear away a bit as the demon looked over his shoulder, for all the world like a thriller hero infiltrating a villain’s lair. He jumped when Aziraphale laid a hand on his arm.

“It’s quite all right, dear,” said the angel. “I believe they’re right on time.”

* * *

“She _asked_ y’not to,” Crowley said, not quite softly enough to keep Anathema from overhearing as she washed up a truly startling backlog of stained and congealed mugs. She remembered a small alcove harbouring a titchy cupboard and an electric kettle; since Crowley and the angel had taken up a sort of bilocal cohabitation, it had gotten larger, been mysteriously plumbed-in, and acquired some unfamiliar appliances.

“That didn’t mean that I couldn’t tell a _friend._ ”

Was that actual _mold_ in what had clearly once been a cup of cocoa? It seemed to be a rich growth medium. She made a note for her medicinal window garden.

“Splittin’ hairs again,” said Crowley. A gurgling noise suggested a truly bravura swig from the bottle of Glenmorangie he hadn’t gotten far away from since she came in.

“Perhaps you could go help Anathema, dear.”

“Yeah, right, forgot. _Angel_ conference.”

* * *

“I just thought it would be awkward for you both if I explained the case with Crowley present,” said Aziraphale. “I do recall that, ah, _dealing_ with them was rather your speciality at one time."

“The world was different then. _I_ was different.” It was only the obvious truth; Celestial corporations respond, within reason, to the requirements of their owners, but a year at the American border had etched lines in Michael’s face that owed nothing to the Southwestern sun. “We warred on the outcast for being cast out, and now I see every day what comes of that.”

“How _are_ you getting on?”

“Things aren't much better,” she said. “But some of the humans are selfless. Ten righteous men in Sodom. I see why the two of you did it."

“I’m afraid neither of us really gave much thought to that,” said Aziraphale. “We’d just become – fond of them.”

Michael’s smile almost reached her eyes. “I have too. And so long as I keep the miracles quiet, I can help. Stumble on information about missing family. Discover a warehouse of supplies going spare. Everyone thinks I have connections.”

“Sometimes I feel I ought to do more myself,” said Aziraphale. “We’ve been living so comfortably. It seems wrong.”

“All those centuries slipping in unauthorized blessings? The little matter that the world's still turning? You've earned a quiet retirement,” said Michael. “I hardly expected you’d still be here. Keeping hours and feuding with customers.”

“I honestly don’t know what else I’d do. I’m so used to it.”

 _“He_ might have some ideas.” Michael tilted her head toward the sounds of industry from the back. “Have you asked him?”

* * *

“Just got my orders. Anything I can do in here?”

“Sure,” said Anathema. “Show me where he keeps the towels. And tell me what’s eating you.”

“I – ah, nothin’, why? “

“I know you better than that.” She pried the whisky bottle out of his hand. “ _And_ I know you can hold a gallon of this, but there's usually a reason."

“Ah, just thinkin’. You’n Newt, bang, first sight, knew you were made for each other. There you are in Tadfield now, no his’n’hers. Those two, little dump in Heston, soon’s he got a position. We’ve been married a year now – “

“I know. I did the job, remember?”

“ – and it still feels like he’s got one foot out the door. If we _had_ a door. But no, it's _yours tonight, dear boy?_ Or _Better stop here, darling, early day tomorrow._ And oh, 'course we’ll find our own place together, but guess I'm still _goin' too fast,_ you know? Thought we were gettin’ somewhere last night, then she turns up and it’s _really we have to table the matter for now, don’t you think?_ "

“Well, didn't you say he's had this shop two hundred years? I guess it's enough time to get attached. Dry this, the rack’s filling up.”

“Try six thousand. Most’ve ’em talkin’ him around.”

“Which you did.”

“Yeah, and now it’s _go help with the washing-up, dear, the grownups need to talk._ ”

“Anthony Crowley. When are you going to just trust that you’re loved?”

“ _She_ said somethin' like that once," said Crowley, nodding again towards the upper floor. "But, y'know, did that, back in the day. Look how it worked out.” He lowered his sunglasses. _Thou art curst above every beast of the field; on thy belly shalt thou go, and dust shalt thou eat._

“Yeah, I get it,” said Anathema, pulling the glasses the rest of the way off and surprising him with a sudsy, exasperated hug. “But y’know what? Aziraphale’s better than that.”

* * * 

Chaz stepped into the organized chaos that was the angel’s flat. The books at one end of the sagging couch showed signs of having been recently moved to make room for the small curled form at the other, wrapped in a tartan blanket and a mighty aroma of Jamaican roast.

“Love?”

Her head didn’t lift, but her hand reached out, the one with the ring on it. She liked rings, and it had taken a little persuasion to steer her away from the biggest, showiest one they could afford.

She still didn’t look at him as their hands touched, but squeezed back.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” she said in a small voice.

“Been here before, love. Tried to make me forget you, remember how well that worked?”

“You should have.”

“We going to have to go over this every year or so? I’m not afraid of them.”

The headshake again. “I did not think it would happen.”

“What, you thought that lot was going to back off forever? I didn’t.”

Her answer was inaudible.

“Can’t hear you, love.”

“No. Not that.”

He waited.

“Baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for pregnancy and eventual childbirth -- nothing graphic, but I know it's not everyone's thing (it isn't even mine, don't ask me how this happened).
> 
> I actually had this idea on the back burner for months with most of Chapters 1 and 2 in some kind of shape, but it was Cinnamon_Swirl speculating on the idea of Beelz as a mom on the previous fic that made me do it (shout out).
> 
> Come discuss the inconceivable with me on Tumblr @CopperPlateBeech


	2. Chapter 2

“Is it safe for me to squeeze you this hard?”

“I do not know. I am unfamiliar with the particulars.”

“Last I heard, this started ‘cos you were in charge of somethin’ about a baby – “

“Not directly. I delegated.”

“Oh, right, Anthony there standin' in for the stork.”

“You do know that storks are not involved.”

“Gettin’ away from the point.”

“I do not know what the point is.”

“Did you think I’d be angry? I said I was all right with no kids. Didn’t mean I wasn’t all right _with_ one.”

“I do not even know how this is done, and – “

“Well, I think everyone bangs on about what you should eat, and they take blurry pictures of the inside of your tum, and your clothes stop fitting for a bit, and then I tell you how much I love you and little Chaz or Bella. And we have to get sitters when your dancing clothes fit again. Also, my mum makes a pest of herself like she did with Chloe’s first. Not afraid of her either.”

“It is not that. What if it is – “

“Perfect? ‘Cos it will be.”

“ _Like me!!_ ” She exploded away from him, awkwardly into a heap of dogeared catalogues. “Like what I was. That happens with humans, I have been reading. What is not seen in the parent returns in the child. I was greater than any but _Satan Himself_ – the world barely survived his son – but if I do something now – “

“Nonononono, not what I think you’re sayin’, no – “

_“What if it happens all over again?”_

* * *

She finally stopped sniffling into the tartan blanket.

“I asked Crowley to listen for any sign of a Hellish nature. He says no. But he has a history of spectacular errors in that regard.”

“Put his ear to your tum, like? Might be time to get jealous again.”

”It is – just something we do. The Fallen can sense one another. Could. I cannot any longer, and this is different –” She reached to the plate beside her coffee cup. “These are called Seckel pears. The angel likes them.” Her teeth made delicate grooves in the hard white flesh.

“I have been craving fruit. The angel offered what he called a proper English breakfast, but the smell made me ill.”

“With Chloe, was mushy peas. Had to have ’em, and couldn’t get near beef roast. Almost first thing.” He smiled at the recollection, started to take her hand again, stopped at just touching it. “How much time is there? Before you – have to choose.”

“Enough.” She offered him the half-eaten fruit; if he noticed, he didn’t react. “If I had been sure, I would have just – done it. I looked up what to do and made an appointment – please, do not cry, I came here instead – I needed time. Nothing like me has ever happened before.”

“No,” he agreed, and for a long string of heartbeats there was only their silent, fierce embrace.

“Sorry – it _is_ your choice. I love you, ‘s’all that matters.”

A siren drowned all other sound for a moment. She waited until the wailing had died completely before speaking again.

“There is a small thing inside me that is half made of you. If I do nothing, it is going to be a child. And we cannot know for certain what its nature will be. Do you want that?”

“Um, know you’re new at. Everything. But that’s how it’s always worked. Story you told me ‘bout this Adam kid, straight up the devil’s son, like Merlin in the stories? And he had good parents and when you wanted him to burn everything down he told you to fuck right off, din’ee?”

She dropped her gaze.

“So I’m ready to take the chance. But up to you. You’re the one’s got to do all the work, ‘n’ it lasts months and you don’t get a break – and not always safe, y’know, Chloe was breech and had a C-section – “

The small, pointed chin lifted then. “I have risen living from a pit of burning sulphur,” she reminded him. “ _Six thousand years in Hell._ I can do this.”

He was silent a moment.

“Well. Right. Reckon that puts it in perspective.”

“Let us go down,” she said. “I believe our hosts have some recent experience as godfathers.”

* * *

“Been a _nanny_ , actually,” said Crowley, who’d at least switched from the neck of the bottle to a teacup. “Could drop by now and then, give you a break. Got kinda used to it.”

Chaz had joined him in a drink, after telling Bella sternly that she was not to have any more. “If there was any – demon left in her, this c’dn’t even happen, could it?” he said. “Has it ever?”

“Well, technically – “ Aziraphale began.

“They are called _cambion_ ,” Michael cut in quietly. “The get of demon with mortal. Yes. I have seen them.” Chaz spotted the quick glance that passed between Crowley and his husband, not knowing that she could have added: _And killed them_. There are countless paintings and sculptures of it, deliberately inspired by Heavenly intervention; you see the leathery wings, the half-mortal frame writhing at the tip of the angel’s Holy spear. "But they were always.. begotten with intent. Or so I understand it." Her expression was unreadable.

“An’ I can’t always pick up on ’em,” said Crowley a little ruefully. “ ‘s’how we mixed Warlock up with Adam . He was sort’ve a one-off too.”

“Are they – all right?” Chaz asked.

“ _She_ will be," said Aziraphale stoutly.

“She?”

“Oh dear – a little intrusive of me, I suppose, it’s hard not to be curious.” He looked sheepish. “I can’t say if there’s any demon there either of course – that’s Crowley’s speciality – and right now I’m sensing so much love I couldn’t tell you anything for certain, but well, I’ve a strong feeling you’re looking forward to a young lady.” He coloured up suddenly, as if he’d been caught peeping into someone’s cupboards.

“They check for that anyway,” said Anathema, who’d been rummaging through her bum-bag. “There’s a place –– someone I know does space clearing in the rooms, very spiritual, here you go – “ the slightly battered business card read, across a crescent logo, _Moonchild Women’s Health and Birthing Centre_. “Right out the rail line to Oxford – we met on the train one day – they have nurse-midwives, and doulas, and – have you _seen_ a doctor?”

“No. I only went to the chemist’s and did something very undignified.”

“Um, none of this is going to be dignified,” said Anathema.

* * *

“You truly never had any of your own?”

Aziraphale gazed musing after Michael, who'd been the last to leave.

“Um, no -- why?”

“I only wondered. You’ve been female far oftener than I, and you do seem to have such an affinity for them – here you are already offering to nanny again – never gave any thought to it?”

“Hah. Well – there was a Naga in Hyderabad tried to talk me into it once. Think you’d fucked off to Japan or somewhere. Considered it, but kind of worried about getting egg-bound – nasty way to discorporate – “

“I meant in human form – you are _winding me up again_ , Crowley – ”

“Well, what’s all this about anyhow? You want one? Go for it – bet you’d be adorable in those little frocks, you’ve seen ‘em, Under Construction with the arrow pointing – one’ve mine, y’know – “

“I never! They’re loud, and sticky, and won’t let you read in peace – I only thought you might give her some pointers – you know I’m perfectly happy, exactly as things are – “

“Wanna show me how much?” Crowley mooched up close behind him at the window, arms sliding around his velvet-waistcoated midsection, one finger tugging at the watch chain, the prickliness of earlier _(exactly as things_ _are_ ) deliberately put away.

“My dear, are we playing _this_ game again?”

“Show me or I might have second thou – oughts.” Crowley’s voice rose to a singsong croon. “‘Magine little snaby-babies in your jacket pocket” – wriggling fingers in that exact location illustrated the notion – “little bow-tie markings right here" – a finger tracing lightly under the angel's soft chin, just enough to raise the hair on his neck -- "squigglin’ around on your breakfast tray – keepin’ the mice out’ve the pantry – put me _down!!!!”_

_* * *_

“Here, get yourself a sandwich.” The glossy man in the luminously pale-grey suit fished out a random handful of coins – oddly, from an assortment of nations and eras – and dropped them into the supersized plastic cup crudely lettered _Homeless Please Help._

“Ah, thank’ee, guv’nor.”

“You smell like gross matter,” said Gabriel under his breath, hunkering on the pavement at a fastidious distance, as if he feared grime might leap from the homeless woman’s festering layers of clothing onto the pale gabardine of his jacket or the silk of his lavender muffler. “That kind the Traitor Principality’s so fond of. _Sushi._ ” His nose wrinkled delicately.

“Could’ve sent Frogman,” said Dagon with an unpleasantly pointy smile. “Gone in for rotten eggs lately. So what’s the news?”

“We detected Dragonslayer using a miracle to travel,” he said. “Has she attempted to reach her old contact?” Gabriel shifted as another passerby dropped a pound coin in the battered cup.

“That connection – thank you, lovey – melted down. Not a figure of speech.”

“Ah.”

“Once again, thanks to the Traitor Crowley. ”

“So there's no news at your end.”

“I didn’t say that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Chaz is just about too good to be true. But I figure there are more far-fetched things in fic than a nearly perfect guy, and things are about to get a bit more complicated.


	3. Chapter 3

"Where did that big jar of Mum's pickled onions go? I like a few with my lunch.”

“Oh. I – I am sorry. I was up late with the open book exam and got hungry – “

“ _Mmmph._ ‘S’okay. If you have a little baby onion I’ll love it just the same.”

“Does that happen?”

* * *

“”That’s the Attertons next door – they want you to turn it down – _what are you doing?”_

“ _What?”_

“Stereo _down_ , he’s got a night shift – is that good for the baby? All that bendin’ and whirlin’?””

“I miss the club. But if we go I would want a G and T.”

“Absolutely _not._ They get a syndrome thingy.”

“Then I must dance here. Can we move this stack of books?”

“Those’re just proofs I brought home –– are you _sure_ this is safe – ow!”

“Dance with me. That way it will learn who Father is. The spiritual woman at the Centre recommended such things.”

“You know what happens when we dance. Is _that_ safe?”

“She recommended that as well.”

“Oh, well. If it’s _recommended.”_

* * *

“My shoes no longer fit. Are feet involved in this process?”

“I think it’s just a thing. Chloe had to size up. We can go shopping, but got a question?”

“Yes?”

“Some of our friends want to give you a baby shower closer to time, that okay?”

“If there is a special device for bathing them, certainly. It would be very kind.”

“No, it’s a thingy where – well, they bring all sorts of stuff we’ll need. It’s sort of a girly party. Mum said she’d fix a lunch at their place.”

“Make sure there are pickled onions.”

* * *

“When did this pop out? Little like the swirl on a cupcake.”

“That reminds me, bring me some more of those cupcakes from the place by your office.”

“Eatin’ for two’s a job, ennit? Tum’s bigger’n’ Mr. Fell’s, now – “

“I am fairly certain he eats for two. Perhaps another of the assignments I understand he trades with Crowley.”

“Bella’s got an outie, Bella’s got an outie – ”

“Stop that and rub my feet.”

“Yes, your Highness.”

* * *

“ _Don’t_ pick that up, it’s too heavy.”

“It is only the pack I always carry.”

“With that big book stuffed in it.”

“The angel was kind enough to lend it. I called ahead – “

“I’m not sure you ought t’even be riding the Tube, let’s drive – “

“The Astra is unreliable. And there is never any place to park. You will get one of those clamping devices put on it again.”

“Well, maybe Anthony can snap it off. Seen him do it.”

“I dislike imposing. Just let me carry my own bag.”

“At least let’s check which stations have an elevator – don’t want you goin’ up steps with it – “

_“Will you stop this?”_

“I’m just worried – it’ll be a long day for you – “

_“I cannot spend the next month in a chair!!“_

“Look, just let me bring the car round – “

“Chaz. Do you see this? I am putting one foot before the other. You may follow me in the car if you wish. I am _walking_ to the bus stop. Then I will get on the Tube. I will find a seat where I can ride backwards. And I will meet you at the manuscript exhibit. After you have left the car in a place where it will be clamped.”

She moved a bit cumbersomely but, as befits a former Lord of Hell, with great dignity, and didn’t look back.

Chaz knuckled his forehead and tried some of the slow deep breaths he’d practiced with her in the labour classes.

“Crikey,” he muttered to no one in particular. “They get stroppy, don’t they?”

* * *

“You are positively _glowing,_ my dear. Thank you for that – you could have kept it longer – “

“See, told you – “

Crowley didn’t miss the faintly lethal look that Bella shot at her husband. Aziraphale was already fussing a faded needlepoint footstool in front of her chair.

“I thought it was a glorious exhibit, myself – we went last week – “

“For pretty much the _entire_ week – “

“It was only an afternoon, dear.”

“Not like you hadn’t already seen ’em all when he did ’em – “

“It’s so lovely to visit an old friend, though, isn’t it? Can I get you some tea? Or a little elderberry wine? It’s very mild – “

“I would like that – “

“Love, it’s not good for the baby – “

“Oh, nonsense. When I had an assignment as a midwife back in, what was it, dear? The 1630’s, wasn’t it? – ”

“You had to wear that stupid wimple.”

“Well, we used it quite liberally – kept the husbands out of the way during the delivery, as well – “

“Well, science’s moved on a bit since then, ennit?”

“At the birthing centre they often say old ways are the best," said Beelzebub. "For instance, we practice the natural upright position for delivery. The classes include exercises to develop arm strength so that we can cling securely to a support while we push."

"Ngk," said Crowley.

“Please, Principality, I would like a glass.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t – “

“ _Chaz_ , young fella? Think we should get somethin’ to eat with that. Coat back on, lad. You’n I’re goin’ for a walk.”

* * *

“I’m just worried. She’s got nothing to compare it to. She _scares_ me – “

“Squire, you don’t know from _scary_. Try watchin’ her rip new arseholes for the whole Department of Minor Iniquities over missin’ quota. The scut demons were moppin’ up for a week after.”

“That was then – “

“Same person, en’t she? Changed ‘er outlook a bit, en’t gonna change her style. Last time someone said No to 'er, ended with bloody _Satan_ comin’ straight up through the macadam, and let me tell you, you didn’t want to be there.”

“She wouldn’t….”

“She _can’t_ any more. She’s pretty now, ‘n’ sweet to you, ‘n’ she’d fight Hell and Heaven over again for you. But you gotta pick your battles. Choose your moment. Rest’ve the time – lemme teach you a phrase.”

“A mantra, sort’ve?”

“Yup. Goes like this: _Yes, dear_.”

“Ah – right.”

“Believe me, mate, I’m in the same fix. You learn to cope.” Crowley drove home his point by pulling his sunglasses away and spearing the young man with a slitted amber gaze. “Now let’s go get our better halves somethin’ to go with that wine. What does yours like?”

* * *

“Oh, Mrs. Riffey – this is _lovely_ , thank you – I had a client from this part of Horsham, back in the day, when I still did outcalls – “

“What is it you did again?”

“Just a form of relaxation therapy – retired now, of course, the Sergeant wouldn’t _hear_ of me working – “

“Military men can be so stubborn. And you’re – “

“Anathema. I was the officiant at the handfasting, remember – “

“I should thank you all over again, Phoebe’s made Chaz so happy – I’ll take that, all the gifts go on this table –– oh, there’s someone else at the door – “

“ _Phoebe? I used the name Bella in the ceremony – I don’t want the protection to slip – “_

_“Just with his mum, ducks, to keep things straight. She’s a Bella too. Some gentlemen have a bit of a Mummy thing, I should know.”_

* * *

“Well, that’s a haul. What’re all these? This’ll have to go in the boot –“

“The witch said this should be hung over her crib. All the crystals have some sort of function. I did not quite follow her explanation..”

“What is this thing exactly? Looks like sort of a yarn lump collection.”

“Michael brought our friends from Downstairs. I think it is a blanket. They have been learning to knit.”

“Looks like they tried for a pattern – that a fly?“

“The medium brought this book on _Loving Discipline,_ and she said the other little box there was for _spicing things up,_ when we can – “

“Crikey.”

“The angel sent the illuminated alphabet for when she is older – a facsimile edition of course – and Crowley said all the lullabies she used to sing are on this thumb drive – “

“She who?”

“Oh, Crowley was female for the occasion. Some of us change from time to time.”

“Did _you_ ever?”

“I have always preferred this form myself. I am sorry, I should have demonstrated while I could –– “

“No, that’s fine – I – um – just – fine.”

* * *

“Well, ‘t’other bloke’s decided not to press charges after all, Mrs. Riffey, reckon you can go. This your husband now?”

“What _happened_ , love?”

“The train was very full and he was taking up two seats. I did ask him politely to move over and he pretended he could not hear me. The second time he ignored me I removed him.”

“Um, what does ‘remove’ mean?”

“All I can say is, mate, better keep your missus sweet. Witness said he went half the length of the car.”

“Uh, she's been developing her arm strength.”

“Call one of us next time, marm. That’s what transport constables are for.”

“It seemed too small a matter to trouble you.”

“Always glad to help. S’posed to discourage violence, like, but my missus had an awful time with our second, can’t say I’m sorry for the bugger.”

“Thank you, officer – get you home safe, love, brought the car round – put the wind up me, when Gemma stuck her head into the meeting, thought the baby was comin’ – “

“Not for another two weeks.”

“Uh, you know they aren’t on a timer.”

* * *

“At least come for a look-over, angel. Pear tree in the back, you like pears. Crown mouldings. Big kitchen.”

Multiple thumbnail images filled the screen of the bookshop’s archaic Amstrad, which despite the lack of a router or basic capacity was connected to a site with the unlovely name of Zoopla (“We Know What A Home Is Really Worth”). Crowley flicked another, wheedling: “Wall around the garden?”

“I – just can’t think about it now. I’ve the whole proceeds of that last estate sale to catalogue, and a collection to view later this afternoon – “

“Just one day. Get a feel for it. Rockery, here – can’t remember last time I had a good nap on a sunny rock – “

“ _I_ can’t remember the last time we – well. What with you gallivanting all over Sussex and coming back asleep on your feet. I suppose this renewed zeal for house-hunting has replaced your interest in – “

“ _Not_ fair, angel.”

The angel lifted off his half-moon glasses and set them down on the stack of file cards in front of him, rubbed his eyes, blinked; laid the hand with the wedding ring palm up on his knee.

“I’m sorry. You’re quite right.” It had become their peace ritual: after a moment, Crowley crossed to him and clasped hands so that their rings touched.

“I just didn’t expect you to take this up again so soon and – it’s been London for so long, we’ve watched it grow up around us – we’re part of it – “

“Just thinkin’ of watchin’ somethin’ else grow up around us. Plants that can breathe open air. Have bees land on ’em. Might get us some bees, honey for the sweet tooth, bring it to you in bed. Like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Hm. Let me imagine the possibilities.”

This called for a brief diversion.

“It’s only that – this was the first place on earth we knew we'd always find each other again. All the memories, Crowley.”

“Yeah. Like comin’ in here, callin’ for you with the fire eating everything. Like sittin’ waiting for Hastur and Ligur to come collect me, hopin’ I’d be out’ve splash range. Got plenty of _memories_ , angel.”

Aziraphale locked the door with a snap; pulled the demon’s skinny anatomy against him, somewhat overwhelming the Queen Anne chair, and stroked his hair.

“And _I_ remember the moment I saw this place whole and untouched, after I'd already grieved the loss. I forget what you went through. Perhaps I try to.”

“Still have dreams.”

“I know. You talk.” The angel had a sweetly annoying habit of counting off Crowley’s vertebrae – he never got the same number twice running – with fingers walking down his spine in slow waltz time, one-two-three-one-two-three. “I do think we should stay close till the baby comes. You said it yourself, the young man's car breaks down almost as often as Mr. Pulsifer's.”

“Time we settle on somethin’ and get packed up, kid’ll be teethin’.”

“You may be biased towards an ambitious concept of tooth eruption.” If Crowley was relaxed enough – he was reaching that point, what with the warm lap and the counting – the tips of his canines became a little visible, denting his lower lip. The angel liked kissing them. Crowley sensed the discussion was being kicked down the road again, _ah well, go with it_ \--

The phone rang. Aziraphale ignored it. For a string of wordless moments it seemed as if the omission of the last couple of weeks was about to be remedied; then Crowley’s jacket pocket vibrated.

Their eyes met – somewhere along the way, the sunglasses had found their way to the blotter – and Crowley pulled the phone out; turned the screen to face the angel as he thumbed the connection open.

“Speak of the – “

“ _Don’t say it._ Anthony Crowley here.”

“That reminds me, I have a book for her young man – "

“Yes?” Crowley’s eyebrows elevated, presumably not over the matter of the book.

“I _completely_ forgot, it came in Tuesday – “

Crowley was already grabbing the angel’s coat from the chair-back, fumbling on his sunglasses, holding the phone to his ear with one hand as he dragged Aziraphale along by the other. The door chimes jangled behind them like a crash of glassware. _‘Be there in a tick!_ Oh shit oh shit oh shit – “

“Crowley! Language!”

“Bugger language, angel! _Get in!”_

The Bentley made it three blocks before he noticed the tyre clamp and snapped it off. The car had just decided it was best not to bring the matter up.

* * *

“Oh bollocks oh no oh god where’s my Oyster card I had it this morning – “

“It’s in your other hand.”

“Gemma, oh god, you’re a treasure – she said they’re getting longer – I didn’t even know she was having them – she never tells me _anything_ – is the design team meeting today? I won’t be – if anyone calls – “

“I’ve got it, Mister Chaz, I’ll call everyone – “

“Maybe I should get an Uber – “

“Traffic’s snarled whole west side of town. Bus accident. Tube’ll be faster.”

“Bugger bugger bugger – sorry, love – get onto that bloke from the art department and tell him I’ll – I don’t know – “

“Just _go. Lift’s that way!!”_

“Forgot – “

Gemma waited until she heard the chime of the lift and dug out her phone.

“Hello? Yes. Just now.”

* * *

Chaz paused in his jog-trot towards the Tube entrance and pulled a fiver out of his pocket.

“Take this, big day today, celebratin’ – “

“Ta very much, love. Bless you.”

The homeless woman on the blanket carefully tucked the note inside her mephitic garments and lifted her head in an almost invisible nod. Just as Chaz doglegged around a newspaper box to the Tube stair, a sleek gentleman in a silver-grey suit dodged in the same direction, colliding with him. They both staggered, and the other man put his hand to Chaz’ shoulder.

“You all right, fella?” He had a flat American accent.

“Yes -- just -- “ Chaz shook his head, a bit like a wet spaniel.

“Sorry, guess I knocked the wind out of you a little. You look like a guy who needs to get home in a hurry.” The American’s eyes were an odd shade of violet, full of concern. “Go on home.”

He turned a thumbs-up to the homeless woman as the younger man descended the broad concrete steps.

“I’m not going to say it again,” groused Dagon as he dropped a two-pound Agatha Christie into her cup. “I fucking _hate_ saying it.”

“You mean ‘bless you’? I know,” said Gabriel. “It’s part of the fun of working together.”

* * *

“You need not have hurried so – “

“I _told_ you, Crowley. My stomach is still back in that roundabout in Chiswick.”

“Well, after that whole bloody tie-up -- that tosser was going half the speed limit ‘n’ takin’ up two lanes – “

“ _Whoof! – ff – ff – ff.”_ Beelzebub, once Lord of Flies, Viceroy of Hell, and Prince of the Fallen, squeezed her eyes shut and leaned back against the Ikea couch with her hand on her stomach, emitting long purse-lipped exhalations, as prescribed. “I understand this process takes anything up to thirty hours. Chaz will be here shortly. I merely wished to alert you.”

“Uh – ‘kay, somethin’ we can do meanwhile? Angel? Should we boil water or what?”

“I am sure the birthing centre will provide ample boiling water if it is required. They instructed me to come in when the – contractions repeat at a certain interval. Until then, they suggested I eat something while I can and perhaps divert myself with a film.”

“ _Netflix and chill?”_

“There are videos on the second shelf. You might enjoy Mark Pirro.”

 _“The God Complex? Sub Jesus --_ ooookaaay.”

“His version of the Garden of Eden is amusing.”

“Gotta see this,” muttered Crowley, popping open the DVD player.

“Principality, if you would be so kind as to bring me the leftover egg rolls from the fridge – “

“Really, I think a bit of toast and milk – perhaps a drop of honey – “

“And some of the hot mustard sauce – is there any ginger beer left? Oh, never mind, I can look, _ooof_ \-- I know I opened the pickles Chaz’ mum sent home with us – “

“Oi, this is mental,” said Crowley. “Def were _not_ magic mushrooms in Eden. You remember any, angel? Coulda been fun.”

“ – what about a nice cup of cocoa – it’s very soothing, surely you’ve got some – do _focus_ , Crowley!”

“She said chill. This is a hoot, angel, God in this looks just like Sandalphon.”

“I’m sure he’d like to think that. All right, all right – let me at least get a plate –”

A key turned in the front door.

“ _Mr Fell?”_ came a shout from the vestibule. “ _Anthony?_ What're you doing here?”

“Promised we’d drive her in style, din’t we?” said Crowley, pausing the film. ”Little early, guess, maybe we should give’m some time to ‘emselves, angel – “

“Chaz?” Bella stepped into the kitchen doorway.

He goggled at her – bell-shaped in a red smock patterned with little black dragonflies, black leggings and house slippers, a cold egg roll halfway to her mouth. A large gobbet of mustard dropped to the lino, then another, as she stared at him and he stared back.

“Who the _hell_ are you?” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I can be forgiven the pickle and boiling water jokes. Something of a relic myself, I have a deep respect for the classics.
> 
> Mark Pirro specializes in low-budget films larded with juvenile humour (and by juvenile, I mean fart and dick jokes, spectacular bad taste and equal opportunity offensiveness). I've only ever actually seen the trailer to [The God Complex](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l8vrXyBWDPE), but swear ta... well, you could swear the guy playing God (confronted with the Virgin Mary: "I did not have sexual relations with that woman") was Sandalphon's stunt double. I couldn't get it out of my head. Crowley would at least check it out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shock, a car ride and an Infernal bargain.

“Shock, p’raps?” suggested Crowley. The word seemed more applicable to Bella, paler and greyer-skinned than she’d ever been in Hell.

“Bloody right I’m shocked,” said Chaz. “Walk into my _own house,_ I’d be onto the rozzers already, you weren’t friends – been meanin’ to stop round – still haven’t told me who _she_ is.”

“I am your wife, Chaz. The one who is about to have your baby. Why do you think you came home so early?”

“There was something – I – I know there was, just give’s a sec – I don’t even _have_ a wife _–_ or, no, I do, but she’s not _you_ – “ (Aziraphale didn’t miss the little twitch that was Beelzebub’s only reaction to the harsh emphasis) “ ‘n’ she’s not havin’ a baby, we were careful about that – her name’s – it’s – just need a moment.”

He collapsed into a very modern chair, which wobbled ominously.

“Chaz. Do you remember the night you met Anthony? And Mr. Fell? How do you think you know them?”

“Why wouldn’t I know Mr. Fell? Biggest collection of amazin’ books there is – lets me hang about readin’ em long’s I like – oi! That’s my lunch tomorrow.” The predicament didn’t appear to have abated Beelzebub’s appetite; she had just devoured the rest of the egg roll and was licking mustard off small fingers.

“You’re the one with experience,” said Crowley, glancing at the angel. “This kind of thing happen?”

“Well, I remember a husband here and there who insisted the _child_ wasn’t his. But never the wife, and only after alleging a resemblance to a friend or neighbour which I confess I never could see myself. Something else seems to have happened here.”

”Right you are,” said Crowley, “and it stinks like Hell. And Heaven.”

“Sit tight, Mr. Riffey,” said Aziraphale, stepping closer to trace with his hands around a perimeter several inches distant from Chaz’ head and shoulders. “We know the young lady. We can help here.” Over the chest and the midback, shaking his head. "The protections Michael put on him are intact.”

"Intact my arse," said Crowley.

 _"Oooooh,"_ said Beelzebub, thumping down onto the sofa again to utter another series of compressed-air bursts.

"This is daft," said Chaz. "What’re you - this woman’s about to give birth in my bleedin’ _sitting room,_ you should be getting her to hospital stead’ve all this New Age handwavin’ –”

"Not without you, mate," said Crowley, licking a finger and holding it up like someone testing wind direction. "Nope, everything I did stuck too. He should be safer'n houses.”

"Course I'm _safe_ \--“

"I think I might be sick," said Beelzebub suddenly. "The WC is upstairs, if you could assist, Principality?”

"Just a flippin’ minute – “

“That or your rug, squire.”

“Rrrrarrccchhh,” said Beelzebub from a point just above their heads, followed by a softer tut of “oh, dear, oh, dear” and the sound of running water. Then “Where ever is your hamper, Mr. Riffey?”

“Uh – corner of the landing.”

“My dear – I told you you should leave the pickles alone – “

_“Aaaachhhh.”_

“Look, I guess you’ll explain all this, but there’s somethin’ I needed to be doing – “

“Yep.” Crowley punctuated the single word with a labial pop. “Right on that.”

“I think I am better now, Principality – “

“Let me help you get up – “

“Ah – perhaps not – _ooooccchhh –_ “

“If I could just remember – look, if you lot’ll just clear out, I’ll think of it – “

“There now, dear. One step at a time, I’ve got you. We’ll put some of that ginger beer over ice chips until you feel able to get out to the car – I really think we should move forward here – “

“First sane thing anyone’s said – “

Bella, clinging to the handrail, paused halfway down the staircase with a sudden twitch and a wide-eyed expression, the other hand going to the lower curve of her belly.

“Can someone get me a towel?” she said in a small voice. “They are on the left-hand side of the boiler cupboard. The big blue ones.”

* * *

Gemma answered her mobile nervously. She’d been instructed to dial that number and leave an update at an appointed weekly time, and in certain other circumstances, by… who had she met several months ago? The voice had been hypnotic and soothing, promising that nothing would happen to Mr. Riffey or his wife, that their (who were _they?)_ interest was harmless, and there was money in it for her. Which there was: a comforting but not suspicious sum wired into her Paypal account every month from _Mammon and Associates_ , the sort of thing you might earn by participating in a study. It felt a bit wrong, but somehow, every week when the time came round, every time something happened worth reporting, she found herself, despite all misgivings, making the call.

They had never called her.

She thumbed the Answer icon.

“We just wanted to thank you for your services. It has been a profitable arrangement,” cane a voice before she could speak, and it was a different one, neither male nor female, young nor old. "We'll see you shortly."

“Let’s just get it done,” said a voice in the background, and that was the suave, self-assured one she remembered. “You don't always need to toy with them.”

“Oh, but I _do,”_ said the dark, too-cheerful voice, and when the head of the design team came out of a meeting an hour later, already speaking before he entered the reception alcove, it took him a few seconds to register that Gemma wasn’t in her chair but curled on the floor, white with terror, surrounded by small, faintly squirming, dying… _maggots?_

She recovered well enough to go to work after an evening at Casualty and a week at home. But there would always be a blank in her memory about what had happened.

* * *

“ _Crowley, that signal’s red –_ so’s the one coming up – I’ve had to miracle up seatbelts, why ever hadn’t you got any back here – “

“This is bloody _kidnapping – “_

“Not lettin’ you out’ve our sight, mate.”

“Got to stop sometime – “ Chaz twisted around in the passenger seat, reaching for the buckle of his own seatbelt.

“”Can’t think why,” said Crowley and snapped casually.

“This thing’s bloody _jammed_ – “

“Yep-p,” Crowley popped again.

“ _Fff – fff – ff,”_ said Beelzebub.

“This is completely mad, Crowley – _watch out for that Vespa! –_ it can’t be good for the baby – shock to the mother – perhaps I should just try to snap her there – “

“Ever done it with a pregnant woman?”

“No, but – “

“Got no bloody idea how it'll affect her then, do we? End up with her there and bouncing baby Beelzebub on my back seat, don’t have to tell you what it’s like to miracle _body_ _fluids_ out’ve the leather – “

“At least you have experience transporting infants – “.

“Faster,” panted Beelzebub, eyes shining.

“Oh, _dear,_ is it coming?”

“Not yet. Only I have not ridden with Crowley in far too long. _You can make that one!”_

“Bloody right I can – “ Crowley accelerated and banked, tyres squealing, passing an omnibus through an impossible gap. Beelzebub fist-pumped.

“I would have come up far sooner if I had known about this – “

“Gonna take back all those performance reviews then?”

“Surely it cannot matter now – “

“It’s a migraine,” said Chaz. “I see now. It’s all mad because I’m having an aura. Lucid dreaming. Happened before. You can control lucid dreaming. I’m going to change this now. The car will slow down.”

“Dream on,” said Crowley, flooring it.

“Mamamamamama – “

“Oi, this is where we came in,” sighed Crowley. “Night we met him, almost forgot that, ‘member, angel? You had to – “

Crowley fell silent. Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. The car actually stopped for a signal. Chaz tugged futilely at the seatbelt, and Beelzebub said “Aggghhh. Fff. Fff.”

“Take his memory away,” said Aziraphale.

* * *

“It was a blessing I learned to do,” said Aziraphale as they coasted into the car park. “To spare people horrible memories. So technically, protections against _harm_ might be ineffective.”

“Ever tell anyone else Upstairs about it?”

“Well – of course. It was a benevolence. I thought the Archangels would be interested, but they seemed rather dismissive.”

“Someone could’ve remembered. Question is why.”

“I’m going to wake up now. Any second I’m going to wake up.”

“No, you’re going to come with us.”

“Take your hands _off me – “_

Crowley lowered his sunglasses and favoured Chaz with the flicker of an inhumanly long, split tongue past suddenly sharp canines. “You tellin’ me what to do?”

“Mamamamamama – “

“Gettin’ old, that,” said Crowley. “Speakin’ of. Wait just a sec, angel.”

He threw back his head, concentrating. The air around him rippled.

“My dear, this is really not the time for one of your _serpent moments – “_

“Nah,” said Crowley in a higher timbre, shaking out the three-quarter length skirt that had replaced his constricting jeans and adjusting a hat on his – _her_ scarlet curls. “Plan on stickin’ close to ‘er in there, think this might go over better.”

“Now you’re a lady,” said Chaz with a little despairing moan. “It’s the new meds. That’s it.”

“Whatever you say, squire,” said Crowley. “It’ll be easier if you come with us. You’ll wake up home in bed. It’s a visionary experience, go with it.”

“The side door, Principality,” said Beelzebub, clinging to the angel’s shoulder and nodding toward a sign engrossed with violet brushstrokes, representing a female silhouette with an impossible crescent swoop of hair, crossed by the script words _Moonchild Women’s Health and Birthing Centre._

 _“The Angel that presided o'er my birth  
_ _Said, 'Little creature, form'd of Joy and Mirth,  
_ _Go love without the help of any Thing on Earth,' “_

declaimed Chaz, surprisingly.

“Well, I suppose quoting Blake is a good sign,” said Aziraphale.

“Is it?” said a voice behind them.

* * *

They turned as one. Side by side on the pavement, toes to the edge of the kerb surrounding the small car park as if they were pressed against a solid boundary, stood a haphazardly dressed, almost certainly homeless woman and an impossibly immaculate, grey-suited man.

“Hi, Gabe,” said Crowley. “How’s the Divine cobblers? Last I saw you, you were folded over like an envelope.”

“Weakness of the mortal corporation. Won’t make the same mistake twice, _demon.”_ (Here Dagon gave him a sour look.)

“Oh, singin’ castrato back in fashion Upstairs then?”

“They’ve stopped time,” said Aziraphale. “Look across the way.”

The pedestrians on the opposite pavement were halted in awkward postures mid-stride, like photos taken with a high-speed camera.

“Just wanted a moment,” said Gabriel. “Talk to the Prince there. Before they’re – “

“ _She_ ,” said Beelzebub firmly, with considerable authority for someone leaning on a bollard (right hand) and an angel (left).

“The young gentleman's not hurt. But you might notice he’s missing something -- all memory of you, specifically. Painless. Just _awkward_ in your situation.” Gabriel spread his hands in an I-got-nothing gesture.

 _“Once a dream did weave a shade  
_ _O’er my angel-guarded bed,”_

intoned Chaz, who was now embarked on a full Blake retrospective.

“Gotta thank you for that trick, Principality – glad Michael took notes back in the day. Heard from her lately?”

“Quite occupied on the American border,” said Aziraphale suavely. “ _Do_ get on with this. The young lady is in a, ahem, predicament.”

“The _young lady_ is about to produce a potential child of Hell,” said Gabriel. “Who might replace the one that defied us. Not gonna make the same mistake twice.”

“Y’mean y’don’t know,” said Crowley. “ _Potential_ was what Warlock’s tutors all put on his end-of-term reports.”

"Let's just say that my... _associate_ has gone down through a very special trapdoor and had a conference," said Gabriel with noticeable distaste. “You remember that trapdoor, don't you, Prince?"

"What do you want?"

"A simple bargain. We can reverse the – _blessing._ You give us the kid fresh off the grill, he’ll remember you again.. Don’t know what you ever saw in mortals, but never figured out what Az here saw in raw fish, either. Nasty-smelling stuff.”

“I resent that remark,” said Dagon.

“Bluff,” said Crowley, gripping the parrot-head crook of her umbrella. “We’ll sort it.”

“I never tried to do it, Crowley,” whispered Aziraphale. “There was absolutely no reason to.”

“I heard that. So, Prince? We got a deal? Take a lot of bother off your hands, save you expense – got to worry about those mortal things like school clothes and babysitters now, don’t you – “

“Or come back to us,” said Dagon unexpectedly. “With the child. Repudiate the bond that made you mortal. _He_ will forgive you, if you give her to us.”

“ _O, what land is the Land of Dreams?  
_ _What are its mountains, what its streams?_ ”

commented Chaz, who was now seated on the steps to the double doors behind them.

"And what will you do with my child if she proves merely mortal? Feed her to the Hellhounds?"

Their eyes locked, and something passed between them.

“You care so much, Prince? We meant something to one another, did we not? We were first among the Fallen – “

"And now I am his wife. That will not change."

“You will scratch to survive," said Dagon. "Serve the turn of those who were once mayflies to you, for the sake of your daily bread. You will grow old and die. And then perhaps we will see you again. Below.”

“Not if I see you first,” said Beelzebub.

She pulled herself up on the angel’s shoulder.

“Better to serve on Earth than reign in Hell,” she said, then doubled over a strong, long cramp. “And now – if you will excuse me – I have business to attend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me that there’s a lot of upchucking in this fic. It's not that I have a kink for it, but it goes with migraines (Chaz' migraine syndrome is well established) and pregnancy, sometimes in unexpected ways.  
> When yours truly was coming into the world, the first trip to the hospital was met with a condescending there-there: "You're nowhere close, Mrs. Beech. Go order your favorite lunch and see a movie, then come back." The menu involved New Orleans-style shrimp and strawberry shortcake, and I spent my whole childhood hearing the grisly details of how it all came up almost immediately. I reported for duty about four-thirty that afternoon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella uses _language_. Aziraphale says "ngk." Anathema Device is not here for your bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not quite sure how a birthing centre like this would fit into the UK health-care system, but I figure that if canon can have St. Beryl's, I can have Moonchild.

“Mrs. Riffey, ooh, just -- a --- tiny bit early, aren't we? Timing the contractions?”

“ _Agh_.”

“And this is your support team? Hello, Mister Riffey – “

“How the _hell_ do you – “ Chaz broke off on an abrupt squawk.

“None of that, young man,” said Crowley sternly.

“Mister Riffey is a bit overwrought,” said Aziraphale blandly, noting Crowley’s thumb digging into the nerve channel of Chaz' left elbow.

“Oh, they always are about the first. There’s herb tea at the hot water canteen, it helps. Let’s pull up your chart, here – Phoebe Thompson Riffey – date of birth – “ Aziraphale had handled the fussy miracles that gave Bella an identity in the public records (they had chosen the feast of Saint Vitus, patron of dancers). “And your friends are– ?”

“Ezra Fell, we’re the godparents,” said Aziraphale at the same time Crowley said “Nan – ah, Antonia Ashe, call me Nanny – don’t I _know_ you?”

“I don’t think – you know, you _do_ seem familiar – “

“Ff-fff–f-f,” said Beelzebub.

“That _hurts,”_ said Chaz under his breath.

“We see that so often. Sympathy pains in the father. Why don’t you get him some tea, Mr. Fell?” Her pointed nod said _get him out of the way._

“I’m not the – “

“Right over here with you, my good fellow.”

The waiting area was filled with the kind of squashy, enveloping furniture that accommodates a frame with a distorted center of gravity. Aziraphale looked over the tea selections disapprovingly until his eye lit on a colorful packet. “Ah, catnip,” he said. “Very calming. We used to give it to labouring mothers as well.”

“You’re a doctor, Mr. – ah – Fell?”

“Oh, no, just assisted at some births – it’s been a long time – “

“Always magic, though, isn’t it? I worked in another birthing hospital for years myself – tried a career change, but, you know, you just can’t stay away from it – I've almost finished my doula training, it’s a different world nowadays – “ The clerk was invincibly chatty and kept up a rapid-fire stream of conversation even while keystroking at impressive speed. “There you are, Mrs. Riffey, Elsie’ll be out to take you back to room three. There’s honey over there behind the mugs – I just _had_ to go back to this, you know, I missed seeing the parents meet them for the first time, their darling little toesie-woesies…”

Crowley slid onto the avalanche of sofa, flanking Chaz, who was clutching a mug and muttering “I will dream of what I like best. I will wake up having dreamt of what I like best.” It sounded like an affirmation from one of the labour classes. “Angel, that’s _Mary bloody Loquacious._ The nun who lost the Antichrist. Remember Tadfield Manor?”

“Not terribly well. I was a bit shaken, thanks to you, dear.” He peered over at the reception desk. “Her nameplate says Hodges.”

“That’s the one.”

“Apparently unable to resist the call of the little toesie. Um. Woesies.”

A nurse popped around the corner and beckoned.

“Can my – friend come with me?” said Beelzebub, rising heavily with one hand on Crowley's shoulder. “My husband is – “ She broke off into another string of steam-engine puffs. Crowley stood, glancing pointedly at Chaz.

“I’ll keep an eye on him, dear,” Aziraphale murmured. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“Father will be there for you when you need him,” said Mary. “They always are. Won’t you, Mr. Riffey?”

“But I’m not the father,” said Chaz in a drifting, dreamy way. Aziraphale had been trying discreetly to get past the block in his memory, but it seemed to have been cemented by the powers of both Above and Below, and all he had managed was to get him vaguely squiffy. Mary sat down beside him and patted his hand.

“Now, papa, you can’t _imagine_ how many dads are afraid of that at one point or another, and so far _zero_ of ours have been right. But if you’d like to talk to a spiritual counsellor, we have a small rota, I can call.”

“I’m sure that would be lovely,” said Aziraphale. “But that reminds me, the – ah – religious person who married the Riffeys asked to know when the baby was coming. She might have something to offer. Though I don’t know if there’ll be time for her to get here in person.”

“Oh,. this goes on for a while, you know. Would you like something to eat? I have pink biscuits.”

* * *

Aziraphale would not have been Aziraphale if he could do without a book, and he had snatched up Chaz' chapbook edition of _Songs of Innocence and Experience_ on the way out of the rowhouse. He pulled it out of his jacket, now that Chaz was slumped down to the couch beside him in a slightly miraculous slumber, hair askew and mouth slack in a way that reminded him with a pang of Crowley's knack for nodding off in the middle of a sentence.

The sky outside the blinds segued from gold to orchid to a deep purple, and lights went out and doors slammed distantly in other parts of the building. Women in joggers and leggings, with the wide-legged gait he’d seen Bella develop over the past months, trickled out to the car park through Mary Hodges’ solid stream of chat, solicitous partners at their elbows carrying rolled mats. His eyes followed them as they exited, landing on the white-gleaming doll-house figure seated outside a Starbucks a couple of blocks distant – not quite far enough to be unrecognizable, pointedly not consuming _gross matter_ while the lumpily clad woman across from him tucked in, a generous well-off citizen buying a homeless woman a meal. His lips set.

The building took on an echoing quality; footsteps approached and faded at the end of the short hallway without anyone ever coming into view, and once or twice the door opened and a few notes of a lullaby in Crowley’s dear voice escaped. How many times had he stood under the window of the Dowlings' house, listening to her sing Warlock to sleep? He might have dozed a little himself – the habit had grown on him – and started a bit to find his eyes opening on a sea-blue skirt, the colour of the waves on the Dorset coast. Mary Hodges was nowhere to be seen.

“I had Newt drive me down. He’s gone on to his mum’s, I think he was afraid he’d get me pregnant just by being in here together.”

“Oh. My dear. That wasn’t necessary.”

“I kind of think it was. You have friends. There's a panhandler at the corner who smells like the Monterey Fish Market and what looks like Mr. Clean pretending to read the Daily Telegraph under a street light.”

“I know.”

“And they really think she’s going to – ?”

“They seem persistent.”

Anathema nodded toward the awkwardly slumped Chaz. “He still doesn’t remember anything?”

“No, and – you remember how the marks of the cords showed up after the handfasting ceremony? Under the light from Michael’s wings? I – well, I manifested one wing, just a little, when no one was looking – they’re fading. I could hardly see them.”

“What have you tried?”

“Every flavour of miracle there is. I’m at my wits’ end. I’m just keeping him a little, ah – “

“Stoned,” said Anathema, who was, after all, from California. “Until? I mean, he’s going to need the john at some point.”

“I keep hoping I'll think of something. I suppose she can always take my flat for as long as she needs, Crowley won't mind my staying at his for a bit– “

“When's there going to be an _ours_?” interrupted Anathema.

“What sort of a question is that?“

“The kind the witch who married you two asks, because _someone's_ got to, you big birdbrain.“

"I suppose he's said something. We do talk about it, only you know, I am a bit fusty and I'm dreadfully set in my ways -- I suppose we both are -- "

"Aziraphale."

" -- he might not like having me underfoot day and night as much as he imagines, and then where would we be - "

_"Aziraphale."_

_" --_ and we've all the time in the world to decide what suits us, we're immortal beings -- "

"So was Bella Riffey, until she asked me to perform a ceremony," said Anathema. "You do coin tricks, don't you?"

"What -- "

She reached into her bum-bag. "Got a few American ones left. Here's a dime. Get off it."

Aziraphale's eyebrows shot up, his lips describing a pink, perfect O; he made a noise alarmingly close to _ngk,_ and then snapped his mouth shut as Anathema rested her hand over Chaz', beginning a barely audible cantrip. The approaching tread of sensible shoes cut it short. 

“We’re almost there, Mr. Riffey, you’re about to be a papa – wake him up, Mr. Fell? I’ve just been getting our spiritual counsellor gloved and gowned, I meant to introduce you, but you both looked asleep – oh, you must be Miss Device?“

“Cecelia's here?” said Anathema. “Wish I’d known, got a book of hers – “

“Oh, no – this is someone from an interfaith group that’s helped us out before, first time here, only person available at this hour but I thought we should have someone, not what I’d call _warm,_ you know, puts the wind up me a bit, really, but they said she’s done _loads_ of work in the _harshest_ sort of environment and – “

A wordless scream echoed through the still air of the hallway, the waiting room. Another, louder one. Then a squall in a higher octave. Chaz shot bolt upright, tottered a few steps before Aziraphale could grab his elbow.

“I'm afraid Mr. Riffey's a bit disoriented -- migraine, you see -- " The rest of Aziraphale's words were drowned by an imperious, unmistakable shout: _“Give her to me!”_

"Let me go -- dammit -- that's my _wife!"_

* * *

“‘I’ll spell you.”

The newcomer, gowned and masked, slipped in to replace a willing but not very husky doula who was helping Bella stay in position against the handrail at the foot of the bed. The woman bracing her opposite arm, tall enough that she had to crouch, shifted to accommodate, red hair creeping out from under the elastic cap.

“Let’s get the bath a little warmer,” came a voice from closer to the floor, “There, that’s it.”

There is a small sculpture in the celebrated Dumbarton Oaks Mesoamerican collection: a squatting woman in the act of giving birth, teeth exposed in an anguished grimace, the child swan-diving out of her like an exhibition swimmer. No one is sure exactly where it was carved, but some consider it to represent the Aztec goddess Tlazolteotl. Also known as the Filth Eater, she incites to sin; and, like the fly, feasts on all the vileness of the world; but then turns it to purest gold.

Bella Riffey, once Beelzebub, Viceroy of Hell, Lord of Flies, clutched the arms bracing her against the handrail, stiff black hair stuck to her face with sweat, eyes shut tight -- teeth bared as they had been when the firmament cracked, when Seraphim, Thrones and Powers plummeted like blazing meteors through measureless space. The heat had torn at her then, the acceleration dizzied her, and she’d screamed defiance at it. She screamed now.

“That’s the head. Push again, Mrs. Riffey.”

 _“_ What the entire _fuck_ do you think I’m doing _? Aaaahhhh! Can't --”_

"Yes you can," said the newcomer unexpectedly -- the tone of someone who's not there to make your life hard, only to make you do the hard stuff your life already had lined up for you. " _Now."_

“Here we _are_ – one more – good _job,_ Mrs. Riffey. Right into the bath with her – nice and warm, feels just like mum, doesn’t it? Yes, that’s _air –_ you’ll like it, let’s try – blanket over here, there we are, cord’s stopped beating – ligature – “

Through her slowing huffs came the sound of a weak, thready wail, hiccupping breath, a stronger cry.

“Set’ve lungs on her, I’ll spring for singin’ lessons,” said the unlikely red-headed woman who’d kept her smoked glasses on even after they dimmed the room.

“Give her here.”

“It’ll just be a moment – let’s get you into the bed – “

“ _Give her to me!!”_

_* * *_

“Whatever did you do, dear? That was close.”

“I didn't even have a chance to start. It was something even older than the Craft," said Anathema. "I sort of expected it."

"What?"

:"He heard his child crying."

* * *

“Mr. Riffey. You’ll need to wash your hands.”

“That. That’s my daughter.” His expression suggested someone who’d either just won the lottery or been hit with a wet fish, possibly both..

“Yes, that’s your daughter, and I may say your wife made a splendid job of her.” The midwife’s reaction to his late entrance was noticeably tart. “Over here, please.”

“Here, a few more pillows – “ The doula had rebounded.

“ _Chaz_ – ?“

“ _I remember it all – all of it now, what they did – I’m sorry, love, so sorry –”_

“You are being very wet – “

“We’ll just put her right on your stomach – that’s best – “

“Let me.”

“All right – hand under here, support her head, like in the classes – “

Freshly minted humans are impossibly tiny, impossibly squashed-looking. Their fingernails are like seed pearls, and they’re wrinkled like anyone that's been wet for a while. Occasionally, they’re born with a full head of hair; this one's was black and stiff, like her mother’s.

“Bloody ‘ell, what’s come over him? Baby’s the one meant to be cryin’.”

“Fatherhood, I think. I’ve seen it at the border.”

Michael crooked two fingers in Crowley’s elbow, pulled her toward the door.

“It goes on without end. They welcome new life in squalor and call themselves blessed. Or they’re parted, the children from the parents, the husbands from the wives. And sometimes I can bring them back together. Men meeting a year-old child they’ve never seen before. They always weep.”

Chaz stretched his arm across both mother and child. “I have no name,” he breathed, hitching and pausing between words.

_“I am but two days old — "_

"More like two minutes, squire," Crowley muttered.

 _"What shall I call thee?  
_ _I happy am – “_

“We’ll give you a moment, then she’ll need her K shot and her eyes seen to – “

"There's a pull-out bed for Papa, can you get that, Mary?"

“Oh, _look_ at her little toesie-woesies – “

 _“Fuckssssake, whatever you do, don’t let_ her _take the kid anywhere,”_ Crowley hissed in Michael's ear. _  
_

 _“Joy is my name,—  
_ _Sweet joy befall thee!”_

“It’s an old English name,” said Mary Hodges approvingly. “A good name.”

* * *

“That text was Newt, he's out front – I’ll plot her chart before I go to bed, we can drop it off tomorrow – night, Mr. Fell, Mr. – ah – Nanny – “

“They seem to think you’re in tip-top shape, my dear. So we’re off, and whenever they say you’re ready to go home – well, we’ll be available, Crowley wakes up rather reluctantly but – “

“Get on the blower when you need a ride,” Crowley cut him off, trying to pretend she wasn’t watching miniature fingers clasping and unclasping in a clumsy experimental fist.

“And oh, Mr. Riffey, I fear I took the liberty – here, you might want a little reading – remarkable imprint, there are unique typographical errors in the _Songs of Experience_ that were certainly _not_ in the edition of 1826 – “

“Shut up and let me sleep,” came a muffled voice from under several layers of flannel.

* * *

“The child seems quite – well, ordinary,” the angel observed as they passed the dimmed waiting area. “I can’t imagine her causing any trouble.”

“Ah, give Nanny a chance. Up to speed in no time.” Crowley nicked a pink biscuit from the plate on Mary Hodges’ desk. “Guess you'll want to-- ah --put off lookin' for a place? Keep an eye on 'em?”

“Oh, I don't know. Michael's not exactly junior, and I believe she has the situation in hand.”

The pink biscuit performed a gymnastic front vault and lodged itself in a business card holder. Just fatigue, probably.

"Where was that cottage you showed me?”

“Um. Dorset. We could go for a drive.”

“I’d like nothing better. If you promise you wouldn’t find it too tiresome, having an old duffer of a retired angel underfoot all day.”

"Close the shop, 'n'all?" This time the biscuit ricocheted off he sign reading _Mobile Conversations In Waiting Room Only_. Possibly it was all the Celestial and Pagan energy that had been swirling through the building. Yep. That was it.

"Well. It occurs to me that Mr. Riffey hardly parts with a volume any more readily than I. He might be amenable to serving as locum from time to time.”

The doors opened on what looked like first light of dawn, but it was coming from the wrong direction.

“Evening, Principality,” called Gabriel from the far end of the car park. “Mom and kid okay? Had some time to think it over?”

“Has Hell’s new Prince a name?” said the funky bundle of garments at his elbow.

 _“My daughter's_ name is Joy,” came Chaz’ voice from just inside the door, loudly enough to echo in the silent street. "Sort've thing I reckon you lot wouldn't know about."

His hair was sticking up on one side of his head, his shirt was untucked, and the next day's beard had gotten a respectable head start, but he looked as ready to put up a fight as any Saxon holding a shortsword, except that what he held was Nanny’s parrot-headed parasol.

“Left your brolly,” he added more softly, extending it.

Dagon and Gabriel rounded on one another. “This is _your_ incompetence – “

“It was _your_ _plan_ , Prince – “

“And a very pleasant evening to you both,” said Aziraphale, waggling his fingers in a little bye-bye wave. Gabriel and Dagon blinked out of presence, just in time for Chaz to mash Crowley in an unexpected hug.

“I – thank you,” said Chaz. “For stayin' wth her. And the, ah, kidnapping.”

“‘Uh – no problem – abduct you any day, twice on a Sunday -- ”

“You're an angel, Anth -- uh, Nanny -- I mean-- "

"Take that back _now_. Bad for my rep. Get on back in, you've got a kid to fuss over."

Aziraphale gazed after him, winding Crowley’s hand in a familiar clasp; raised it briefly to his lips. "So, still a demon, then?"

It was another of their domestic rituals. “What else am I going to be?”

Sometimes the answer was _my husband_ or _my love_ , but tonight Aziraphale was briefly silent.

“Handfasting with him made _her_ mortal," he said finally. "Not something she bargained for. And then he disowned her. Hell offered to take her back. And she still chose him again. If it were one of us – “

“Yes,” Crowley interrupted.

“And I, my dear.”

Their embrace was long and soft.

“Bentley's this way,” said Crowley.

_finis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can see the Dumbarton Oaks "Birthing Figure" [here.](https://www.wikiart.org/en/aztec-art/tlazolteotl-birthing-figure)
> 
> This is the most improbable fic I have ever written, because I have a violent squick about pregnancy, and anyone who knows me will tell you that the mere proximity of a child or infant gives me hives. But the damn Thing In My Head gave me the idea anyway, and then Cinnamon_Swirl posted the comment: "I bet Bella would make a great mom which would allow Crowley and Aziraphale to be the cool uncles..." That was it. The Thing said "No more big new ideas until you do this."
> 
> Hence, all depictions of the pregnancy and delivery are lifted from clients I've seen through the process, or baldly cribbed from, of all things, Alison Bechdel's classic _Dykes To Watch Out For._
> 
> Are Dagon and Gabe going to give up so easily? Does any latent demon nature survive in Joy? How the Hell do I know? Come tell me what you think on Tumblr @CopperPlateBeech


End file.
